


A Little Brave

by tarie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:05:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarie/pseuds/tarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Near the end of his seventh year at Hogwarts, Harry left the wizarding world without a trace. Years later, he and Hermione are unexpectedly reunited... will they be able to rekindle what they once had?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Brave

Throughout the course of his tumultuous life, Harry had learnt that Fate could be a real pisser of a bitch from time to time.

This was one of those times.

The last thing he expected to see when he walked through that door was her and yet there she was. Or perhaps he had been expecting it and fervently wishing that she would not be there. In any case, there she was and he couldn’t do a damned thing about it.

When he had gotten the owl from Remus a week ago, Harry didn’t even blink. It had only been a matter of time before someone found him, after all-Voldemort or The Order. He wasn’t sure if he was pleased that it had been The Order to discover his whereabouts and not Voldemort himself. What _did_ surprise him about the owl was not the identity of the sender but rather the information that was contained in the few sparse lines hastily scrawled on aging parchment. 

The Order of the Phoenix was setting up a base operation-one that would be much larger than 12 Grimmauld Place had ever been. It was long overdue that the Order strengthen themselves in not only numbers but skill as well. A sprawling, unplottable castle in the hills of Northern Ireland would serve as the place where this could happen-where members of the Order old and new could come together to train and coordinate a strike against Voldemort and his followers. 

Had Harry not pulled the stunt he did at the end of seventh year, he would have been one of the elder members of the Order of the Phoenix and been in on the planning for this academia of sorts. As it were, though, facts were facts and Harry wasn’t a veteran member of the Order of the Phoenix. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to be-or become-one of the Order’s _newest_ members.

He could have refused the letter, could have stayed in hiding.

But he didn’t refuse the letter.

Maybe he was tired of hiding.

Or maybe he was simply tired of living life and ready to face the inevitable.

Whichever it was, it was all up to Fate… much like it had been all those years ago when he had stopped a kind-faced woman at King’s Cross and asked her how to get to Platform 9 ¾ and ended up sharing a train compartment with her youngest son, sharing sweets and trading stories until a bossy witch had popped her head in their carriage looking for a round-faced boy’s missing toad.

Fate.

Brushing the snow off of his shoulder as the doors slammed behind him, Harry stood in the vast entryway of the castle, eyes sweeping across the ancient stained glass windows and up to the vaulted ceiling. Although he was indoors now, he still felt chilled to the bone, nearly much more than he had just a moment ago outside. At first he shrugged it off, thinking he just needed to get a warm pint of Butterbeer or something similar in him to warm up his bones but what happened in the next moment would change that diagnosis.

He sensed her there before she appeared in the archway at the end of the entryway. That had to have been it; that had to have been the reason he felt as though the blood in his veins had been replaced with ice water. 

Near his knee, Hedwig hooted in her cage and Harry’s eyes shifted from taking in the high ceiling and down to the faithful companion at his side. She tilted her head quizzically at him, making a shrill noise.

Finding this behaviour to be odd, Harry frowned and moved to stoop down so he could peer in her cage. In the middle of getting down on his haunches, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Curious, he transferred his attention from the owl to the end of the entryway where it intersected with a corridor.

His heart hitched painfully in his chest.

“Bloody hell, Hermione…” Her name came easily. Much too easily for his liking. How long had it been since he had allowed himself to think of her? It had been months, a good number of months. How long had it been since he had seen her?

_Years_ , a voice whispered insidiously in his mind. _Years._

Grabbing a hold of the handle on Hedwig’s cage, Harry straightened and began to pivot toward the door. There were no words, there was nothing he could say to her. This wasn’t _good_. It wasn’t what he needed right now. He hadn’t been _expecting_ this.

But then again, maybe he had.

It didn’t matter.

That instinct that had driven him to run away all those years ago had not left him. Oh no. It was still there inside him, beating him up, wailing at him.

Flee. Run. Get out while you still can.

_I’m sorry. I did it once and I’ll keep doing it. I have to._

“Harry?”

Her voice echoed in the vast room, bouncing from ceiling to floor and wall to wall. It was all around him. He couldn’t escape it; he couldn’t pretend that he’d not heard her. 

The easiest thing for them both would have been for him to ignore her and walk out again. But Harry had never done things the easy way. ‘Easy’ didn’t seem to be a concept he could grasp.

Shoulders stiffening, he slowly turned on his heel toward the voice he could never forget, no matter how hard he might have tried.. 

And there she was, looking just as she had the last time he had seen her. Gone was the schoolgirl uniform, of course; the hair was a tad bit shorter and less wild than he remembered, and her familiar brown eyes held a haunted quality now… but it was still her. 

He had the strong, absurd urge to throw his head back and laugh when one of her hands went to her hips and her lips pursed a few times like she always did when she was warming up to give either him or Ron a thorough lecture but, mercifully, he resisted from doing so. Instead, he bit down hard on his lower lip and watched her expectantly. Any minute now a myriad of questions would surely come. She would glower. She would snap. She would berate him. She would tell him what a selfish bastard he was. She would ask him **why**. She would do all of these things and Harry would stand there silently and take it. He would not walk away. He would let her have her moment. He owed her that much, at least.

Any minute now she would do all of these things.

Any minute-

She wasn’t doing these things. 

She wasn’t doing any of them.

The only thing she _was_ doing, in fact, was rolling her lower lip between her teeth in an almost identical fashion to Harry.

_Well, shite._

Harry didn’t quite know what to do. In all his life, he had never seen Hermione Granger speechless. Ever.

The silence in the air was growing thick. Coughing, Harry was quite sure that, had he a knife about him, he could have cut right through the tension between them. Unfortunately, he had no knife with which to do so. Thus, words would be his instrument of choice. After all, he had to say _something_. He couldn’t take the awkward silence one moment more.

“I-I-” he started, stammering and hating himself for it. 

The fingers that she had resting on the delicate curve of her waist contracted.

Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Hullo,” he said quietly, bowing his head the slightest of degrees, suddenly not feeling worthy enough to look her in the eye. 

“ _Hullo?!_ ” came the reply, clipped and on the shrill side.

He raised his head just enough so that his eyes could focus on her chin. Almost immediately after doing so, he saw her jaw twitch and wished that he had just kept looking at the floor instead.

“I suppose,” she continued mordantly, “that next you’ll be asking me how I’m doing.”

At a loss for an intelligent response, Harry shrugged his shoulders listlessly. “All right then,” he said slowly, “how’re you doing?”

_Brilliant, Harry. Just brilliant._

Her face mottled red and, for an instant, he was reminded of Ron. Ron. Ron.

_Can’t think about him now; hurts too much. Haven’t thought about him since-_

Harry hadn’t thought about Ron since the day he had walked out on Hermione-and Hogwarts-all those years ago.

“I’ve been alive,” she said coolly, “so I suppose you can take that as brilliant if you like.” 

The cool tone didn’t fool him. He still knew her well enough to realise that she was beyond livid with him-as she had every right to be. Whenever Hermione was annoyed with Ron or him, she would almost always raise her voice and assume that insufferable ‘I can’t _believe_ you two!’ tone. Sometimes, though, she wouldn’t raise her voice at all. There would be no waver, no hint that at any moment she would go off on them like a Muggle bomb that Harry remembered studying about in grammar school. She would just sound… even. Rational to the point of detachment. When she would sound like that, it always affected Harry much more than her condescending tone and huffing ever could. When she would speak coolly like that, her lips barely moving, Harry would feel smaller than small. He would feel like he should go back in that cupboard at Number Four Privet Drive and lock himself inside.

That was how he felt right now.

When he closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift back to that chilly, dark cupboard, it was as though he’d never left. He could almost feel the faint wisp of a spider web grazing his cheek and his head jerked at the ghost of a sensation upon his skin. 

“ _Honestly!_ ”

His eyes flew open so quickly that he nearly felt dizzy, rocking back on his heels and reaching an arm back to grip on the pedestal of a statue just off to his side. Swallowing hard, he rolled forward so that the balls of his feet were touching solid ground again and released his hold on the cool marble.

“What?” he asked tentatively, rubbing at a temple.

_Bugger. My head’s not pounded this badly since those damned Occlumency sessions with Snape._

“What?” she repeated, still sounding as cool as you please.

Harry winced.

“Is that _all_ you have to say to me? Is it, Harry? You _left_! You _left_ without a word, without a warning, and now here you are right in front of me for the first time in _years_ and all you can do is ask me how I am as though not a day’s gone by and you’ve not shred my heart into ribbons!”

_All right. Deserved that, I did._

His head was pounding merrily now and he was quite sure the wince on his face would become a permanent fixture if he didn’t do something about it right quick.

Right.

Reaching in the pocket of his jacket, Harry withdrew a packet of cigarettes, tapping the bottom of the packet against one hand and withdrawing the thin cylinder that poked out of the small box’s opening with the other. Clenching his cigarette between his teeth, he placed the packet back in the pocket and removed a lighter, raising it to the tip. Taking a long drag and pocketing the lighter, he noted that Hermione’s eyes narrowed dangerously. 

“Those aren’t healthy,” she said scathingly.

“Nope,” he agreed, taking pains to blow the smoke away from her, “they aren’t.”

“They can kill you, you know.”

“Maybe I’m just trying to kill myself before Voldemort gets the chance,” he returned easily, and not with a trace of mirth in his voice.

“That’s awfully brave of you,” Hermione said nastily. “A true Gryffindor if I ever saw one.”

This was getting awfully tiring. 

Taking one last drag from his cigarette, he tossed it on the floor and crushed it with a crunch of his boot. “I’m not brave. Not even a little.” 

“No. You’re not.”

“Hermione-” 

“You’re right. You’re not brave. A brave person wouldn’t have _left_ like you did-no notice, no note, no post, nothing! A brave person would have _stayed_. A brave person would have _faced_ life full-on and stood up for themselves. A brave person wouldn’t have _fled_.” The cool tone was no more, her voice now quaking with barely controlled anger. 

“I don’t even care,” Harry returned flatly. _I don’t even care._ About what? About her? About Hermione’s disappointment and anger with him? About his lack of bravery? About all of it?

_I don’t even care._

It was a lie, an enormous lie that he had told himself over and over throughout the past few years whenever he would begin to feel unsettled. He would never _quite_ get to thinking about Hermione, about Ron, about Hogwarts, about the Prophecy-about any of it. That niggling little feeling would pool about in the pit of his stomach and, almost automatically, the mantra of _I don’t even care_ would start up in his mind and push everything else away. 

Hermione flinched and something inside him-- _regret?_ \--bubbled up.

_**No.** I don’t even care._

“No,” she spat, “I suppose you don’t.” Giving him an appraising look, Hermione scowled and turned on her heel.

She was leaving him. 

He closed his eyes; his head was _pounding_.

She was leaving him. She was the one walking away this time. It was for the best. There was too much left unsaid between them, too many things that needed ironing out that he didn’t have the energy to pursue or make right. Just let her walk away and then he, too, could walk away and they could both pretend that this never happened. He could go back to the States again, get lost in big cities as he had been want to do these past several years, live as a Muggle-

“I fell in love with you the moment you popped in my compartment looking for Neville’s toad.”

“ _What?_ ”

At the sound of Hermione’s incredulous tone and the squeak of her shoe against stone as she pivoted back toward him, Harry’s eyes flew open.

_Shite._

Horrified beyond belief, he blinked rapidly. Why oh _why_ had he said that to her? Why _now_? 

_Way to dig the knife in a bit deeper, Potter. Why don’t you twist it about the heart a bit more?_

His heart… or hers? 

Harry wasn’t sure.

“Why are you doing this to me?” 

Her voice was wavering and her lower lip trembling like she was valiantly trying not to cry. 

In that instant, Harry found that he truly hated himself. He should have gone the moment he heard her call his name. He shouldn’t have stayed. If he had left went instinct was nearly _screaming_ at him to do so, he wouldn’t have to stand there as he was now and see Hermione this way. It was beginning to tear him up inside, seeing her like this again. Hermione was not one to cry and Harry could probably count with the digits on one hand the number of times he had seen her do so. The last time was during the beginning of seventh year when Ron-when Ron had been taken from them.

_Can’t think about him now; hurts too much._

“Because I’m a right bastard,” Harry said honestly. “Go on, Hermione. Just-go wherever it was you were headed, okay? I’m leaving; I won’t bother you again.”

“Leaving?” Hermione sputtered. “ _Leaving_?”

“Yeah.” Leaning down, Harry wrapped his fingers around the handle on Hedwig’s cage and straightened. Indicating the door with a jut of his chin, he said, “I’m leaving. I should never have come.”

“No, Harry. You never should have _left_.” Her lip was no longer trembling. The vulnerability that he had briefly seen had been replaced by flashing eyes and a matter-of-fact tone that was no stranger. He knew that she was not about to allow him to argue with her, not about this. Although he wanted to protest and tell her that she didn’t understand, he didn’t. This exchange was exhausting him as it was and he did not have the energy to riposte with her just now. Maybe he never would.

“Maybe not,” he finally replied. 

Hermione nodded and he could tell by the glint in her eyes that she wasn’t satisfied with that answer. Surprisingly, though, she didn’t press the matter. 

Brown eyes swept up and down his form before giving him one last, lingering look. Starting down the corridor, her voice called back to him, “I’ll see you around, Harry.”

Setting Hedwig’s cage down once more, Harry nodded slowly. 

“Maybe you will,” he whispered, waiting until her footsteps disappeared to sink to the floor beside Hedwig.

_Maybe it’s time to be a little brave._

********************************************************

A few months had passed since Harry had walked through the entryway of the Order of the Phoenix’s new base of operation and back into Hermione’s life.

Things hadn’t been so easy for them, not in the beginning.

She harboured a great deal of resentment toward him and he did not blame her for it.

He kept things from her and wouldn’t talk about the hows or whys when prompted. 

Often times he would get up in the middle of meetings and walk the grounds for hours, too overcome by everything that had happened to the wizarding world since he had left it to be able to properly focus and contribute to planning surveillances and the like. He would skip meals and avoid conversations with people at all costs, especially Hermione. Although people didn’t ask him for an explanation as to why he had disappeared years ago, he knew the question was on the tip of their tongues. They never asked but he knew it was a matter of time before someone-most likely Hermione-would. 

So far she hadn’t and he wasn’t sure if he was grateful for it.

She had almost asked him that afternoon; he was certain of it.

What he wasn’t certain of, however, was whether or not he was glad that she didn’t.

During an appointment with Hestia Jones, Harry’s eye kept wandering to the window in her office, drawn there by the bright beam of sunlight shining through and the gentle breeze blowing about outside. It was a beautiful day, the first in over a week. The past few days had been nothing more than grey skies and showers and Harry was thankful for the change in the weather. At the conclusion of his meeting with Hestia, he bade her a good day and excused himself to take a walk. 

He had barely made it outside when he heard footsteps behind him. Not wanting to become engaged in idle conversation, Harry quickened his pace and lowered his head. Although some of the other Order members were old friends, Harry just did not have it in him to chatter on aimlessly about ‘the good old days’ or which Quidditch team was going to win such-and-such a match, or anything resembling actual conversation, really. These people had known him while he had been Harry Potter the schoolboy and they still treated him as such-with kid gloves and caution. He wasn’t a boy any longer. He was a man and he _could_ handle things. Those heading the Order had _requested_ his presence so that he _would_ handle things, bear the burden of the prophecy for the wizarding world once more. It was time his colleagues realised that and treated him accordingly.

“Wait,” called a familiar voice.

His shoulders tensed up. Hermione. 

_Don’t stop. Keep going. Just go-_

Shaking his head hard, Harry ignored the urge to brush her off and slowed down. When she fell in step beside him, he glanced over at her, taking in the way the sun played off of her hair. His heart constricted painfully and he had to look away from her, focusing on the flat ground before them as they walked.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, matching him stride for stride.

“You’re welcome.”

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you stayed.”

Harry said nothing to this. He coughed, nodding. 

_I’m glad I stayed as well._

How badly he wanted to tell her that, to let her know that just being around her the past few months even if they rarely spoke had made a huge difference in his life. But he couldn’t. His mouth just could not wrap around the words. Perhaps this was because he had _so_ much to tell her. There was so much; how could he possibly decide from where to start?

For a long time the only sounds were that of their feet moving over the grass and dirt. Every so often Harry would open his mouth to say something, _anything_ , and then promptly close it, not wanting to sound like an ass. He thought he caught her doing the same once or twice but he wasn’t certain.

On and on they walked, passing a small apple orchard and a clearing that was used by a number of their colleagues as a makeshift Quidditch pitch. It wasn’t until they rounded a bend near the small lake that someone finally broke the silence. 

“So…?” 

“So…?” Harry echoed, looking at her inquisitively.

Hermione didn’t reply at first, checking out their surroundings and then laying a hand on his forearm. “Let’s sit.” Using her free hand, Hermione pointed to a fallen tree just off of their path.

“Okay,” he agreed, eyes fixated on the way her small fingers curved around his arm. Her hand was just as small as he remembered it to be, the digits short and slender. Spying the permanent ink stain on her index finger that he had first noticed at some point during their third year, he smiled.

“What?” Hermione asked.

Feeling the weight of her stare, he glanced back at her, green eyes meeting brown.

“What do you mean ‘what’?”

“This,” she said simply, raising a finger to his mouth, just mere centimetres away from actually touching him. 

“This?” Harry asked, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. He could almost feel her touch; he could _remember_ what it felt like, how soft her skin was against his own. Suddenly remembering wasn’t _enough_. It wasn’t enough and he wanted-

“It’s a smile. I’ve not seen one of these on your face since you’ve been back. In fact, I think the last time I saw you do this was right before Ron died.”

Grunting in response, Harry led her over to the tree trunk, waiting until she had situated herself to sit beside her. 

“I haven’t had much to smile about,” he finally said, leaning back on his elbows and tipping his face back to bask in the sun.

“I haven’t either,” Hermione admitted in a whisper. 

Harry felt a stab of guilt at her confession. _It’s my fault. It’s all my fault and I’m so sorry, Hermione. I’m sorry. If I could change things, I-_

“Oh,” breathed Harry. It occurred to him then that he had never asked her what she had been doing with herself since he had last saw her. Had she gone on to be a Curse Breaker like she had wanted? He remembered that Bill had offered to have her apprentice under him. Had she taken him up on the opportunity or had her life gone off in an entirely different direction?

“Hermione,” he started tentatively, “how’ve-what’ve you been doing since-since Hogwarts?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing, Harry?” Her voice was soft and he had to lean in to hear her.

“I don’t know,” he answered cautiously, his heart beginning to pound madly in his chest. “That’s why I asked.”

She leaned in toward him, hair framing her face, and he found it hard to focus on anything but how pink and full her lips were. “I’ve been waiting.”

“For what?”

“You.”

_Run now don’t stay runrunrun if you stay you’ll only end up hurting her again runrunrun--_

The next few moments went by in a blur. If questioned about it, Harry wouldn’t have the slightest idea as to how to answer what transpired. All he knew was that one moment she was telling him that she had spent her days after Hogwarts waiting for him and in the next he was holding her hand in his. 

“Harry?”

Her voice had brought him back from whatever state he had slipped into.

“Hermione?” he asked faintly, feeling her fingers wiggling against his palm.

“Your calluses are gone.”

Turning his free hand over, an odd laugh escaped his lips as he inspected his palm. “Yeah,” he said, “they are.”

“You’ve finally decided to start wearing gloves?” she inquired, sounding more than a little incredulous.

“No,” he shook his head. “I’ve not been flying since-in years.”

“But Harry,” Hermione cried, shocked, “that doesn’t make _sense_! You love to fly!”

“Love _d_. I loved to fly,” he corrected. “When I-when I left Hogwarts, I left it all behind.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he answered, pressing his palm against her own, “I had to. I gave it up. I gave it all up and became a Muggle.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t understand myself, and it’s my life.”

********************************************************

The sun had set a few hours ago and Harry was restless once more. It was far too dark to wander outside so he took to roaming the corridors, the events of that afternoon prominent on his mind.

Hermione and he had sat on that log, staring out at the small lake for hours while they caught up with one another. Until today, any conversation that they had was almost always about something impersonal-the Order, magic, training. Never before had they dared speak to each other of personal things-of their lives, of what had happened to them in the years while they had been parted. Never before had they dared _touch_.

Bringing the hand that had held Hermione’s for ages that afternoon to his lips, Harry could feel the corners of his mouth turning up. He was smiling. For the second time that day, he was smiling. 

When he had been aware of her hand in his, he had marvelled at how utterly familiar it still was. How many times had he entwined his fingers with hers like that while they were at school? He didn’t know. Countless. Her skin was still silky and warm and it had the same effect on him that day as it had in years past-it made his pulse quicken and unleashed a torrent of butterflies flapping their wings madly in the pit of his stomach. 

They had talked of many things out by that lake. 

She told him how she hadn’t really left Hogwarts at all after he had gone. Professor McGonagall, weakened from her injury during their fifth year, had requested that Hermione stay on as her apprentice, a sort of teaching assistant. Professor McGonagall had given up her post as Transfiguration Professor the year before and was now currently serving the school in only the Deputy Headmistress capacity. Hermione had taken over teaching Transfiguration for her and quite missed being in the classroom. She had told Harry that she longed to be educating her students but knew that taking a leave of absence to devote herself to the Order was the correct decision to make. During the last year alone, Death Eater attacks had nearly tripled in number and something had to be done. The Ministry, although under the direction of a new Minister, had yet to properly restructure after Cornelius Fudge’s departure and could not devote all of their energy to keeping a watch on the movement of Death Eaters.

He told her how he had gone immediately to Gringott’s and cleaned out his Mum and Dad’s vault. After changing the galleons and sickles to pounds, he headed off to a second-hand Quidditch shop and waited around until an old clerk with thick bifocals went on shift. Chatting the old man up, it had become quickly apparent to Harry that he had absolutely no inclination at all that the young man with whom he was conversing was Harry Potter. Harry ended up donating his Firebolt and Quidditch gear to the store, glad that the man had no clue who he was. If the man _had_ recognised him, undoubtedly a blurb detailing that Harry Potter’s Firebolt was available for purchase would have been seen in that morning’s issue of _The Daily Prophet_. After tying up a few loose ends here and there, Harry had then made arrangements to take a Portkey to the States. He’d hopped from major city to major city, working odd jobs here and there, moving whenever he would get restless, which was quite often. 

When asked, Hermione had told Harry how her parents were faring and had started to tell him about Molly and Arthur but quickly stopped when the smile began to fade from his face. She changed the topic quickly to classmates of theirs with whom she was still in touch, telling Harry about the various marriages and children of their friends. He had noticed that the apples of her cheeks reddened ever so slightly when she asked him if he had found anyone special over the past few years. 

He hadn’t. He’d never found anyone. He’d never _looked_. He hadn’t wanted to.

She revealed the same when he had asked the same question of her. 

“I’m sorry,” he had said, squeezing her hand and not meaning it a damned bit. Thinking of her with someone else was maddening. It was maddening and yet he knew he shouldn’t have been glad that she had not found love. She should be with someone. She should be happy. With the world crumbling around them, she at least deserved something good in her life.

Turning a corner, Harry dropped his hand to his side. Above his head, the torch lights flickered, creating strange shadow play along the wall. Shrugging, he continued on his way, his pace picking up a bit as he heard the faint sounds of someone chanting coming from somewhere at the end of the corridor. 

Doors lined the hall and his head moved from left to right and back again , looking for an open or ajar door, as he made his way through the passage. At the very end of the hallway he found what he was looking for: a door slightly cracked open. Suppressing a yawn, he pushed it open all the way and stepped inside. The soft chanting continued and, not wanting to disturb whoever it was, he pressed his back against the door, pushing it slowly shut. The room was dimly lit and he could barely make out the form of the chanting woman across the way. 

Garbed in a white shift that accented every curve, the woman finished her chant and lowered her head in a reverent fashion as though she were trying to- do _what_ , exactly, Harry wasn’t sure. He _was_ sure, however, that he was feeling damned uncomfortable being here in this room. He felt like he was disturbing this woman somehow, intruding on her private ceremony or whatever it was that she was doing. Slowly sliding his hand across the rough wood of the door until he felt the handle, Harry held his breath and tried to make a quiet escape. The woman needn’t ever know that she had company.

“Who’s there?” 

_Bloody hell._

He’d turned the handle pretty damned slowly and the ruddy thing had _squeaked_ , giving him away instantly. 

The woman whirled on her heel and started toward him. He could hear her approaching and, stopping his frantic turning on the doorknob, shifted his attention to her.

His jaw dropped.

“ _Hermione._

“What are you doing?” 

Pushing away from the door, Harry crossed to her. His hand raised up to smooth her hair but at the last second he stopped himself, shoving his hand in the pocket of his trousers. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I was just performing a Cleansing Charm if you must know. I’ve taken to doing one every Spring. It helps to clear the mind and distance yourself from the negativity that’s been plaguing you.”

Any other time, Harry would have likely snorted and asked her when she had gotten so “woolly” (as a Cleansing Charm in a spiritual sort of sense that she was talking about sounded like something old Trelawney would have been in favour of) but not today. He couldn’t think of anything witty to say or even an intelligent question about said Cleansing Charm to ask. All he could think about, really, was how he’d never seen her in anything like this white shift before and it was playing havoc with his senses.

“I like your dress,” Harry said, eyes unabashedly roving over her figure. He had seen her in everything from school uniforms to that fancy, floaty blue robe she had worn to the Yule Ball but never before had she appeared so… alluring …to him. 

“It’s not a dress,” Hermione returned and Harry could have sworn that she stammered a bit. “It’s a _shift_. It’s got a _purpose_.”

“Well, if the purpose is to make me do something I shouldn’t, then it’s done its job,” Harry noted quietly.

Hermione didn’t answer him at first. The way she tipped her head to the side and peered up at him, Harry knew she was trying to analyse what he’d just said and make sense of it all. She must have been conflicted, for she sounded very uneasy when she finally spoke. “What are you going to do that you shouldn’t?”

Raising his hands to her hair and brushing it off of her face, Harry then slid his hands down along her jaw line and cupped her chin in his hands. “This,” he whispered before leaning down and pressing his lips to hers for the first time in years. 

He could feel her respond under his lips, her hand laying on his cheek as she gave in to him. Harry nearly fainted dead away when her tongue slid across his lips; she had not been this forward when they had been students. He didn’t mind her forwardness, not at all, and opened his mouth to hers, eagerly exploring the warm, wet recesses of her mouth. Their tongues met and tangled, a burst of energy pulsating through Harry’s body. 

That afternoon when he had held her hand, Harry had wanted more. Her kisses, the feel of her hand against his cheek… it still wasn’t enough. He had to have her, had to show her that he hadn’t left his heart back at Hogwarts all those years ago, had to show her that he still had it, that he still loved her. 

She moaned softly against his mouth and the sensation of it nearly tore him apart. Placing his arms about her waist, he pulled her to his chest almost roughly. His mouth never left hers, his kisses growing urgent, desperate, imploring. He couldn’t get enough of her. 

_I have to have her._

Sliding his hands down over her backside, pausing briefly to grab her arse, he settled his palms on the backs of her thighs. Kissing down her neck, he could hear her whispering his name over and over. Lightly biting at the curve of her neck, he lifted her up so that he was between her thighs, shuffling them over to the nearest wall.

Pulling back just enough so that she could set her feet on the ground again, he planted one hand on the wall for balance, resting his forearm against it. His other arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her to him with the same passion he could feel radiating from her. 

“I love you,” Harry gasped thickly against her mouth. “I won’t leave you again; I swear it. You were right; I should have stayed. I should have-I’m sorry. I love you. I’ve not stopped-I’ll never stop-” 

Her chest was rising and falling rapidly against his and as her breasts heaved against him he found that the fabric between them was maddening. With a strangled moan, he kissed her forcefully. Finding her hands, he twined his fingers in her own and pressed the backs of her hands over her head to the coolness of the ball behind her. Holding them only for a second there, he then released her fingers and trailed the tips of his digits over the insides of her wrists, tracing the delicate veins there before continuing down her forearms to the slope of her shoulders, catching the thin straps of the shift in his fingers as he passed over them. With painstaking slowness, he applied light pressure with his fingers and pressed her arms back down to rest at her sides, nipping at her bottom lip as he did so. 

The fabric slipped down her frame as his fingers slid lower and lower. Harry followed the trail of fabric with his mouth down over her shoulder, over to the centre of her collarbone, over her breasts, falling to his knees as his lips lay feather-light kisses on her stomach. Pushing the fabric over the swell of her hips, the shift fell to the ground and pooled about Hermione’s feet.

Her hands were tangled in his hair now, tilting his head back. He looked up at her, seeing abandon and lust in her eyes, knowing that his mirrored hers. “I’ve never stopped, either,” she said huskily, manoeuvring herself so that she was kneeling on the floor in front of him now. “Couldn’t get you out of my mind.”

“I-” Harry started, cut off by her lips. She kissed him slowly and sweetly, her hands moving from his hair and trailing down his chest. Shuddering, Harry settled back on his haunches and let her divest him of his jumper and glasses. She became a soft blur to him and he had to touch her, he had to have his hands on her skin to _feel_ her and make up for the fact that her image was no longer clear to him. 

Placing his hands on her hips, Harry drew her down onto his lap, running a hand through her hair while the other rested palm-flat against the small of her back. Applying slight pressure on her hair, Harry forced her head to fall back while his lips moved over the slender column of her throat. Pressing his palm more firmly against her back, she arched against him. His lips travelled lower and lower before closing over one nipple. Teasing with his teeth and tongue, it wasn’t long before he felt the sensitive skin rise up in a hard peak. She was moaning now and, encouraged, he moved to her other breast. 

“Not-fair-” she panted, a small hand running through his hair.

Harry lifted his head from her breast and laughed, wearing a wicked smile as he looked up at her.

“ _Honestly_!” she huffed, pushing at his chest now with both hands.

Arching a brow, Harry inquired, “And how do you intend we make this fair?”

“Well,” Hermione countered, wriggling out of his grasp and hooking a thumb in his waistband, “you’re much more dressed than I.”

Not sounding sorry at all, Harry nodded his head, “Sorry about that.”

Brushing her thumb out of the way, Harry flicked open the button on his trousers and undid the zip, standing up and shoving them down over his hips. Offering Hermione a hand, he assisted her to a standing position and wordlessly they helped one another out of their respective undergarments. Bringing his hands to the top of her hips, Harry guided them to the floor, waiting until she was comfortable to crawl up the length of her body and settle against her. Hands moving up over her hips and along her ribcage, he cupped the curve of her breasts and flicked his thumbs against her nipples, eliciting a low moan from her. 

“Insufferable tease!” she accused, gasping, her back arching off of the floor, pushing herself into his hands. 

“Yes,” Harry said blithely, “I am.”

Her foot was running up and down the back of his calf now, making his blood boil. He could feel the muscles in his leg tense and then relax and then tense again. The sensation was maddening.

_Can’t hold back much longer._

Placing a hand at the back of her knee, he pulled her leg up sharply. Hermione inhaled and closed her eyes as he settled himself against her. Crushing his lips to hers as he pulled his upper body up slightly, he felt her hands clinging to the back of his neck. Holding himself back for the blink of an eye as if collecting his strength, he then pushed himself forward with a low groan, joining their bodies seamlessly.

Her cries were muffled against his mouth and he could feel her body stretching around him. Nearly uncontrollable with desire, Harry had to force himself to moderate the pace and force of his thrusts until he could feel her relax against him, her cries tapering off to noises purely of enjoyment.

Nudging his hips closer to hers, he increased his rhythm. Her fingernails dug into the back of his neck and he was certain that he would have crescent moon-shaped marks there tomorrow. That didn’t matter, especially not when she began to match him in speed, rolling her pelvis against him. She then began to contract her muscles around his shaft as he thrust into her and Harry thought he would die right then and there.

_Forget Voldemort getting his chance to do me in. She’s going to shag me to death right here and now._

As she raised her hips beneath him, Harry slid his roaming hands under her backside, cupping her and pulling her more tightly against him. Her elevated hips forced his cock more deeply inside her and she rocked against him again and again, loud cries spilling forth past her lips. Harry glided his hands up her back, wrapping her up in an embrace as she shuddered against him. Her head fell against his chest, breath warm against his skin. He couldn’t hold back any longer, thrusting into her one last time. Feeling his body seize, Harry was certain that death was on the horizon. A plethora of sensation hit him at once, surging through him fiercely. His body jerked and twitched for what felt like an eternity. Gradually his spasming stopped and he fell into her arms. Sweaty and exhausted, he felt himself drift off to sleep as she held him, her hands making small, lazy circles on his back.

The years between the time he had left Hogwarts and reappeared in her life a few months ago were lost forever. That was time they would never get back. They would never get it back but Harry vowed as sleep began to wash over him that he would make it up to her somehow.

It was time to be a little brave.


End file.
